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Nothing Too Obvious

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Mads has been watching Hugh on and off all evening, waiting for the right window to have a longer conversation. While it's not likely that they'll have the luxury of time alone, he would at least like the freedom to talk candidly after the months they've spent apart. Right now, a woman he doesn't recognize is gesticulating enthusiastically and Hugh is nodding along, somehow looking both sinfully youthful and incredibly refined at the same time. Mads gives him an appreciative, lingering appraisal from head to toe, recalling the contrast of messy dark curls on a white pillow and the feel of lithe muscle under his hands. It has been longer than he'd like since he last heard his name trip off Hugh's tongue in pleasure and desperation, but the memory remains clear and beguiling.

As though hearing his thoughts, Hugh locks eyes with him across the room, raising a wineglass to his lips with a slow smile. He's standing alone now, so Mads smiles back with a small nod and starts to make his way over. He stops in confusion when Hugh discretely inclines his head to the left, pivoting to see what he is supposed to be looking at. As he follows Hugh's direct line of sight, he spots the sign for the men's room and almost laughs out loud. He raises his eyebrow at Hugh – "Really?" the look says – but he just receives a shrug and a half-smirk in response as Hugh puts down his glass and walks away. It's a point of pride for Mads that he's able to summon the self-restraint to stand still for a full thirty seconds before following.

He is barely inside the men's room before demanding hands are grabbing at his jacket sleeve. Hugh crowds him into a stall, slamming the door behind them, and as he slides the lock closed he turns to face Mads with shining, playful eyes. There's a flush high on his cheeks from alcohol and excitement, his beauty vivid and almost unreal. Mads pulls him forward by the tie and hovers inches from his face, momentarily pausing to savor the electric pause between anticipation and relief, but Hugh is too impatient to wait. He forcefully closes the gap between them, licking his way into Mads's mouth and reaching up to his neck to draw him deeper into the kiss.

It quickly becomes frenzied and wild as Hugh pushes him against the wall and knocks the breath out of him. As their tongues slide together, Hugh reaches down to rub a palm over the front of Mads's suit pants and hums in satisfaction when he realizes Mads is already hard. In truth, he's painfully so, straining at his zipper after a single heated kiss. Hugh pulls back for air, idly stroking Mads with just one, teasing index finger.

Mads feels his focus narrow down to that single point of contact, his heart racing and his whole body thrumming with the need to be closer. "I wish I could fuck you right here," he says, swallowing thickly as an image of something rough and dirty flashes through his mind.

"You can't, Mads..." Hugh says, voice dropping to a sultry murmur, fully aware of his power as he pulls his own tie loose and undoes the top buttons of his shirt. "But you can let me suck your cock."

Predictably floored by the cherubic innocence of Hugh's features coupled with the lewd bluntness of his words, Mads has no time to do anything more than curse in Danish before Hugh is dropping straight onto his knees, hurriedly pulling at Mads's pants and briefs as he goes.

He draws Mads into the heat of his mouth with no preamble or foreplay, all wet slurping as his head bobs up and down. What he lacks in finesse he more than makes up for in raw hunger, and Mads buries his fingers in silky dark hair with a deep groan, realizing slightly too late that he needs to keep the volume down. He feels a soft lick along the length of his cock, moving up from the base, and when he looks down he sees Hugh swirl his tongue around the head, looking for all the world like he can't get enough of the taste. Mads grits his teeth – the image is just shy of being too much to bear, easily on a par with last month's memory of Hugh riding him, gasping and writhing in his lap. The unbidden association is nearly enough to tip Mads over the edge, but he's startled by a sudden ominous creak of the outer door. They both freeze as the noise of the party briefly streams in behind whoever has just joined them in the men’s room.

Hugh recovers quickly. "Shh," he mouths theatrically, holding a finger up to his lips with a wicked grin, and then he turns his attention back to his primary task of expertly driving Mads out of his mind. Careful to stay silent, he administers a long, slow suck that hollows his cheeks exquisitely and sparks a stab of arousal in Mads's gut. The person outside coughs once, then twice, and Mads lets his head tip back, willing himself to swallow all the sounds threatening to escape from his throat.

The tap of shoes on the tiled floor and the bang of the main door swinging shut tells them they're alone again, and Hugh laughs around his mouthful before taking Mads deeper, seamlessly finding a new rhythm that is unsustainably, overwhelmingly perfect. He is working Mads with his hand as well now, fingers steadily stroking and lips sliding up and down with just the right amount of pressure. Mads is close to panting, his breath fast and uneven. He knows Hugh can almost get off just from the gratification of sucking his dick and swallowing his come, and the thought makes his hips jerk of their own volition as his balls draw up tight against his body.

"I'm–" he says breathlessly, shakily rubbing his thumb back and forth over the curve of Hugh's right ear, and Hugh softly hums his approval, redoubling his efforts. When Mads comes he bites down into his lip and his legs almost buckle at the rush, nothing but white behind his eyes as he squeezes them shut against the force of his release. When his brain begins to work again, he finds Hugh is gently trying to tuck him back into his underwear.

Before there's a chance to properly recover or say anything coherent, Hugh is standing up and initiating another searing kiss, deliberately pressing his hard cock against the firmness of Mads's thigh. "Touch me," he pleads insistently, eyes feverish and over-bright. "Fuck, I really need this."

"Like this?" Mads asks, unbuttoning Hugh's pants and cupping his erection, thumb caressing the head of his cock through thin material. Hugh helpfully pushes his own boxers and suit pants down, but Mads takes his time, pragmatically spitting into his right hand and simply enjoying the familiar weight of Hugh's cock for a moment. Hugh sighs appreciatively, like this is already the relief he has been waiting for, and leans forward. He never seems to be able to get quite close enough when they're together like this.

Mads slowly begins to move his fist, wrapping an arm around Hugh's back and holding him tight. His face is pressed against Mads's chest now, the warmth and dampness of his breath palpable even through cotton. His body is trembling and he's letting out soft, breathy little whines.

"Someone will hear you," Mads whispers. He noses at Hugh's ear, teeth grazing an earlobe, and he is rewarded with another tiny, broken sound.

"Is that what you want?" he continues, hand moving faster and gripping tighter. "Do you want someone to walk in here and find you with your trousers around your ankles, begging me to make you come?"

That's all it takes. Hugh reaches for his face and kisses him hard, spilling over his fist with a low, guttural moan.

In the seconds that pass, the kiss morphs into something much gentler. Their breathing gradually returns to normal between soft, chaste presses of lips until eventually – and reluctantly – they part. Hugh is painfully gorgeous with his abused mouth and pink cheeks, but the stubble-reddened skin of his chin and the creases across his knees and thighs leave little to the imagination. He fumbles to fix his collar and tie with thick-fingered hands.

"You looked fucked," Mads observes, smirking proudly as pulls up his zipper.

"I feel it," Hugh sighs in contentment, giving his wayward curls a useless pat. "God, you're good. Did I make a mess of you?"

The question is ostensibly regretful, but there’s a hopefulness to the upward quirk of his lips. Mads shrugs as he reaches for tissue paper to wipe his hands. He feels a patch of sticky wetness on his abdomen, but on a white shirt that will be fairly easy to hide or clean. "Nah, it's fine," he shrugs carelessly. "Nothing too obvious."

"Maybe I'll do better next time," Hugh says flirtatiously, and then his face falls as he realizes what he just said.

"You can try," Mads attempts to keep things light, but it's too late. The mood has become loaded and somber in an instant, a creeping sense of loss in the air between them now.

"But... there won’t be many 'next times', will there? I mean, I won't really see you very often," Hugh clarifies with a heavy sigh, and Mads feels an answering twist in his chest.

"You never know," he replies, not sure if he truly believes his own reassurances. "We'll meet when we can. And perhaps we might work together again someday."

"Someday... right," Hugh echoes, appraising him with a sad smile, and then he shakes his head as though physically shaking something off. “I'll see you outside. Come and join me when you think it's safe."

He presses a kiss to Mads's sweaty forehead, lingering for just a moment, and then he heads out the door and back to the hectic buzz of the real world.